The End of Cardboard Signs
by loldestielbuttsex
Summary: After disobeying Zachariah Castiel is sent to Earth as a human who cannot speak. With no way to communicate with others and no way to get a job he'll have to talk through cardboard signs. Dean has just made a deal with a demon to save his brother. Will he get Cas to speak before the year is up, or will he fail to save him as well? Between Seasons 3&4 Destiel


_Chapter 1: Read the sign_

_[As Castiel]_

I pull the thin jacket up to my nose. The scent of smoke and garbage is strong on it but I try my best to ignore it. I roll onto my other side, the wet piece of cardboard beneath me offers little warmth. When I open my eyes I almost shut them again because of the cold. The alley is still dark and wet.

It is probably the worst of luck for me to get banished to Earth at this time of year. It's constantly raining and the fight to stay dry and warm is almost impossible. Even these clothes I peeled off the bottom of a trash bin don't seem to help against the chill. Wrapped in a sweater, a jacket and a wool hat and I'm still cold! How do humans do this every day? Well I'd better get used to it now that I'm human.

What do humans even do every day? Work at an office? A job? These things are totally alien to me. Once I was an angel of the Lord. One of his greatest soldiers in fact. Now I'm banished to Earth to live life as a human for a year. All because of Zachariah. Oh Zachariah. How I loathe him so. One of the biggest assbutts I've ever met.

I blink against the cold. I heave my stiff and sore body off the hard pavement. I look down at my cheap plastic watch taped to my coat sleeve. The straps that are meant to go around the wrist were been bitten through by some sort of rotten when I found it. Now all I have is the shredded remains of the straps, the clear tape I used to stick them to my coat sleeve, and the slowly ticking clock hands. From what I've learned: I do believe the time is 10:15. Judging from the bit of sunlight shining through the clouds I can only assume that it is morning.

The cardboard I used as a bed isn't at all as ruined as I thought it would be. Good. I don't feel like spending the whole morning looking for another large enough piece. In my pocket I feel around for my marker. It's a pink Crayola, dropped by a little girl as her father yanked her away from me when she came over to say hello. I take off the small cap and write on the drier side of my sheet of cardboard. "Homeless. Mute. Please give."

This will have to do. I'm not very good with my words and writing doesn't seem to be any easier. Being an angel was so much easier. But this is my punishment for going against Zachariah so I must try my best to last out the year.

The pink marker strokes clash with the dark brown of the cardboard but it is of no bother to me. I pick myself off the ground, slip the marker back into my pocket, and shuffle out of the alley. Without the overhanging roof I am now exposed to the elements. Wind slaps against my already cold face, freezing my breath on my two week old stubble. Rain pelts down on me. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Oh wait. It's not the rain it's just water being sprayed at me by a rich man's car being driven by a rich man's son down a rainy street where he knows the homeless are. I shake off what water I can but there's no point. I'm soaked. Yes thank you sir. Very mature of you. I watch him speed down the road, water spraying out behind his tires like a water cannon.

Good grief. Pity the man who gets that muddy car back in his garage this afternoon. My cardboard is fairly wet but somehow my thin coat managed to block out the rain. It did a terrible job keeping my sweater dry though.

The streets look dirty as ever. Houses and motels and business buildings line the street. A few other cars make their way (more conservatively) down the wet streets. "Open" signs flash on doors and windows of some restaurants. My stomach rumbles at the thought of food. Right. Food. I forgot about it until now. If I were still an angel; food and water would be of little thought to me.

I walk down the sidewalk, holding my collar up to my chin, my cardboard sign folded neatly under my arm. I notice how people move to the other side of the sidewalk when I walk by. They fear me, I know it. Because I'm homeless and dirty. I guess it's understandable. I mean, it's not like I look the friendliest, I'm sure.

After a couple minutes of walking I find a nice spot outside a convenience store where I can sit. Sit and beg. Oh how terrible. If Gabriel could only see me now. He would throw a fit laughing.

But I need to do it so I unfold my sign and place it at my feet, placing a tin can in front of it. I sit with my thoughts, interrupted by the occasional clang of a coin being dropped in the can by a generous person.

I don't know how long I sit there for but I do know that it has rained again since I've sat down. I pull off my hat to shake the water off but it's ripped from my hands.

"Nice hat you got here."

Oh would you look who it is. The assbutt who splashed me with their car earlier today. And he's brought two friends. Returned again for more taunting? Oh how kind.

"You got anything is this can here?" He picks up my tin can of change. I clench my hands into fists, nervous as to what he plans on doing. "Of course you don't have anything. You're a failure even as hobo scum!" He pitches the can at the ground. The coins go flying, bouncing off the pavement and hitting my jacket. The boy stamps down onto the can, crushing it beneath his expensive looking boot.

You might not want to do that. Wouldn't want your daddy getting mad as you for ruining your pretty pretty boots.

"What's the matter? You can't speak?"

Read the sign, ass hole.

He rips the sign from my hand and holds it out in front of him. He sneers at my poor penmanship and rotates the sign in his hands, as if he can't read my writing.

"What the fuck is this shit?" His friends laugh at his insult. Oh how hilarious. "Did you never learn how to write?" I'm a _hobo_. I never learned how to do a lot of things. And apparently you never learned how to be kind to others. What's the matter? Daddy issues?

"Hey come on, talk to me!" I stare at him with the emptiest of eyes. I've seen this all before. I don't need it again from you.

He's angry now. He doesn't like it when he looks like a fool in front of his friends. He rips my sign it two and throws the pieces into a puddle. Before he jumps into his car he spits on me. It hits me on the side of my face. Lovely. He and his friends laugh hysterically and drive away, splashing more water on me. Thanks son.

Sighing, I pick up the drenched pieces of cardboard off the ground. They are far too drenched to be used again so I drop them back in the puddle. My coins are a bigger issue. It seems like most of them have rolled out onto the street and down sewage grates. There are a couple coins scattered around where I was sitting though. I count them up. Two dollars and thirty four cents. That's not too bad. Granted I probably had five dollars before that boy came over. Being a human is making me angry. I don't like it.

The bell on the convenience store's door jangles as I come in. The large cashier behind the counter looks up at me for a second before returning to her paper. I pay for a can of cheap energy drink and a packet of dried meat and leave as quickly as I came. No need to loiter. Might as well return to my alley. Last thing I need is to run into those boys again.


End file.
